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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29868798">Man-in-the-middle</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmberSock/pseuds/AmberSock'>AmberSock</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Compliant, Episode: s05e01 Sympathy for the Devil, Fix-It, Gen, Heavy Angst, Missing Scene, voicemail fix-it</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 01:40:57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,290</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29868798</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmberSock/pseuds/AmberSock</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam hears the driver’s side door open, hears footsteps approaching. He remembers that Dean still has Ruby’s demon-killing blade.</p><p>Yet another voicemail fix-it.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dean Winchester &amp; Sam Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Man-in-the-middle</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is my attempt at a reasonably canon-compliant version of a voicemail fix-it. It's set between when Sam and Dean are on the plane and when Sam tries to apologize to Dean in the car. I figured it would have been resolved by then because Sam was pretty calm by that point. Given Dean's state of mind for that conversation, wasn't really room for fluff.</p><p>The title refers to a kind of network attack, where a packet is replaced in transit by an entity spoofing a different message. Yeah, I'm a nerd.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Hey, it’s me. Uh... Look, I’ll just get right to it. I’m still pissed... and I owe you a serious beatdown. But... I shouldn’t have said what I said. You know, I’m not Dad. We’re brothers. You know, we’re family. And, uh... no matter how bad it gets, that doesn’t change. Sammy, I’m sorry.”</p><p>--- <em>transmission hijacked</em> ---</p><p>“Listen to me, you bloodsucking freak. Dad always said I'd either have to save you or kill you. Well, I'm giving you fair warning. I'm done trying to save you. You're a monster, Sam -- a vampire. You're not you anymore. And there's no going back.”</p><p> </p><p>****************</p><p>
  <em>Lucifer is walking the Earth because of me.</em>
</p><p>The thought doesn’t trigger any emotions in Sam.</p><p>The enormity of what he’s done is beyond what he can wrap his brain around as he leaves the plane and follows Dean through the airport on autopilot. Travelers weave between and around each other like blood cells traversing arteries. Around him in the baggage claim there are people coagulating in reunions- spouses, friends, family greeting each other, their embraces forming clots. A little girl in a red coat runs into the arms of a soldier returning from deployment, and for some reason this image is seared into Sam’s brain.</p><p>
  <em>Lucifer is going to destroy the world because of me.</em>
</p><p>Still nothing.</p><p>Sam is numb as he responds to occasional barked commands from Dean, watches as his brother jacks a silver nondescript car in the airport parking lot, climbs into the passenger seat on Dean’s order. An hour passes in silence. Two. The traffic thins to nothing, the streetlights no longer line the highway at regular intervals. The memory of the little girl from the airport pops unbidden into Sam’s mind in stark detail, and he again sees her red coat, her twin braids bouncing as her father lifts her into the air.</p><p>
  <em>I killed that little girl.</em>
</p><p>That hits him hard.</p><p>“Dean. Pull over.”</p><p>The car slows to a stop on a dark back road and Sam shoves the door open, scrambles away, drops to his hands and knees, and empties the contents of his stomach. He’s surprised that it’s only bile and not the ten pints of blood that he had drained from the nurse only a few hours ago. He wipes his sleeve across his face and takes in deep, gulping breaths while his throat burns. He rocks back, kneeling hunched over with hands on his thighs and becomes aware of a warm breeze scented with the surrounding pines. This stretch of road is deserted, peaceful, empty except for the crickets and frogs serenading him from the nearby woods at the bottom of an embankment.</p><p>It’s a perfect place to dispose of a recently-ganked monster.</p><p>
  <em>I'm done trying to save you. You're a monster, Sam.</em>
</p><p>Sam hears the driver’s side door open, hears footsteps approaching. He remembers that Dean still has Ruby’s demon-killing blade.</p><p>
  <em>Oh God.</em>
</p><p>His breaths become short and shallow, his heart races and pounds in his chest and the accompanying pulse in his ears drowns out the background nighttime sounds. Adrenaline floods his system and he tries to quell his fight or flight response. Time stretches and an eternity passes between each footfall. Sam looks up at the stars and remembers that time when he was lying on the hood of the Impala, pointing out constellations while Dean made up lewd stories about them. When they were still brothers.</p><p>Dean is directly behind him.</p><p>
  <em>You're not you anymore. And there's no going back.</em>
</p><p>Sam feels a hand on his shoulder.</p><p>He remembers Cold Oak, Jake’s hand on his shoulder bracing for leverage just before he felt the white-hot pain of the blade piercing his back. Dean will want to make it quick, he thinks. He hopes. He straightens his back to present a better target, steels himself so that he doesn’t flinch. If he stays still, it will make it easier for Dean to sever his spinal cord and the pain will end quickly.</p><p>One heartbeat. Two. Seven.</p><p>The strike doesn’t come.</p><p>A bottled water from the airport slides into his view as he feels a squeeze from the hand on his shoulder. He takes it with hands shaking from unspent adrenaline and the footsteps retreat. He rinses his mouth out, rises, and sinks back into the passenger seat.</p><p>****************</p><p>More miles pass. Dean is still angry, still hurt, still not ready to deal with what’s been unleashed. What Sam has unleashed. He avoids looking at Sam, because he knows what he’ll see: soft brown eyes pleading for forgiveness. It’s something he can’t offer, not yet, and he knows he won’t be able to handle the look on Sam’s face that will follow his rejection.</p><p>Sam finally breaks the silence, softly. “Why didn’t you do it?”</p><p>Dean risks a sideways glance at Sam, who is staring at the glove compartment like it’s some intricate piece of lore he’s trying to comprehend.</p><p>“Gonna have to be more specific.”</p><p>“What you said... in the voicemail.”</p><p>Dean tries to remember what he said in the voicemail. It was a few hours and a lifetime ago.</p><p>
  <em>I owe you a serious beatdown.</em>
</p><p>Oh, that.</p><p>Dean runs a hand down his face and he makes no effort to hide the irritation in his voice. “Really? That’s what you’re worried about? Don’t you think we’ve got bigger fish to fry right now?”</p><p>“Dean… please….”</p><p>Dean sighs in exasperation. “Look, if you’ve got your heart set on it we can do it tomorrow. I’m just too damned tired now.” He glances at Sam again hoping he’s satisfied and that they can just drop it.</p><p>Sam is staring back at him with an expression not unlike a spirit that has just realized that its bones are being burned, emits a strangled sound. It’s not the reaction that Dean was expecting. Dean’s anger moves over a little, making room for concern to creep in.</p><p>“What? Look, I was kidding. I’m not gonna hit you.” He makes an effort to soften his tone, to sound a little less threatening. “I meant the rest of it.”</p><p>Sam’s expression melts into confusion and Dean turns his eyes back to the road. A minute passes and then Sam is fiddling with his phone. Dean hears his own voice played back to him on the phone’s speaker. His voice, but definitely not the message he left.</p><p>The message ends and then Sam is throwing his arms up to protect his face from the dashboard while Dean leaves a year’s worth of tread wear on the road behind the car. They screech to a halt off to the side of the road, and Dean assaults the steering wheel, teaching it a lesson it will never forget.</p><p>“SonofabitchI’mgonnaGuantanamothatwingeddick’sass-“ Dean rants on until he runs out of swear words and epithets.</p><p>Sam’s reaction makes sense now. He wasn’t worried about a beatdown, he was asking why Dean didn’t- he doesn’t want to go there. He breathes for a minute as he strangles the steering wheel until he thinks he can speak understandably again. He grits out, “Sam, I didn’t leave that message.”</p><p>Sam raises his eyebrows.</p><p>“Zachariah.” The name is acid on Dean’s tongue.</p><p>“Oh.” is all Sam says.</p><p>Dean pulls the car back onto the road. Minutes stretch and Sam doesn’t ask about the real message. It occurs to Dean that maybe it’s because the only thing Sam knows about it is that it involves Dean beating on him. Dean finally clears his throat and volunteers the gist of what he remembers. “You’re not a monster, Sam. We’re family. No matter how hard it gets, that doesn’t change.”</p><p>Sam relaxes for the first time since they left the airport. “Okay.”</p><p>He deletes the voicemail.</p>
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